And they were back at the beggining
by shyangell
Summary: I'm not good at summaries: Proffessor MacGonagall observes her students as they should be about to leave.


They were back at the beggining

_Disclaimer: None of the character appearing in the following fanfiction are my own, they belong to J.K.Rowling; and are used here with the only purpose of personal entertainment._

**They were back at the beginning**

They were back at the beginning, back to where it all started; back at Hogwarts. Today they had come back to the halls that for seven years saw them grow up, struggle, fail, achieve success and cry. But they're bound to spend one last year here. All of them have to make up for lost time as there's no war now but everything is far from normal.

There is still a lot to be done. The maimed building this old castle has become, the chunks missing in the walls just make it so much more obvious. The war is over. Some, to everyone's consternation, will never come back. Between Headmistress McGonagall, a much more widely accepted choice of a substitute for Dumbledore than her predecessor, and Minister Shacklebolt; which fortunately seem to see eye to eye, have agreed to allow all those forced by the war to leave Hogwarts to return once more. No exceptions. In fact, even those who came will return because, let's face it; there is no possible way for many of them to have learnt much hidden in that room of theirs.

As professor McGonagall made her way up into her classroom she surveyed her group of seventh years (there's two of those now), the only one she'll be teaching this year. She'll be too busy to take care of any more groups right now. They shouldn't be in school; they should be having their lives as young adults outside. But they are here, they're back and they're her students; she thinks with fondness.

She reaches the high door, the one that's in the back and goes down with a round staircase. She peers through a crack as they keep talking oblivious. She looks at them, all familiar faces by now, and swiftly marvels at how quickly they grew to become young men and women.

But she isn't surprised to find that she knows them also quite well by now. She has come to know almost all of her students quite well; no matter how many years she can boast in the profession by now.

The always accomplished Ravenclaws are ready and patiently awaiting. There on the first row there is that very tight group of boys; they're closer than most she's ever seen (and she has taught the Marauders). Terry Boot is quietly rereading his notes, still a small and neat boy with a cautious smile. His prefect badge shines carefully polished, but a year of hiding hasn't done him any good, for he looks worn and weary. Anthony Goldstein and Michael Corner are discretely talking. Goldstein is tall and very thin, with a nose that could rival the late Headmaster's, and has an air of intelligence about him. Corner is a remarkable boy, with blue eyes and smooth manners, but headstrong to a fault.

Padma Patil and Lisa Turpin are also there; and those two make a fine contrast. Turpin is tall and strong, fair skinned and light-haired; while Patil is deeply tanned and has pitch black hair coupled with a soft feminine exterior. She marvels again that identical twins like the Patils could be so different; for one is a responsible prefect and the other is a wild-haired free-spirited girl.

A couple of seats away she can hear Morag MacDougal discuss something with Su Li, both accents clearly distinct and evident: one with a think Scottish that reminds her of her homeland in Glasgow, and the other much more exotic. MacDougal gestures wildly, wild hair tangled and flying as she tries to take her point across to the petite round-faced Chinese girl with the ebony braid beside her. Mandy Brocklehurst listens, clearly amused at the antics of both her friends, kind face relaxed and healthy colored.

A row behind Quentin Rivers, glasses sliding down his nose and auburn hair falling gracelessly over his furrowed brow patiently listened Kevin Entwhistle's discourse; the odd boy with a waving mane of straw-colored hair and a thin, pointed nose.

Hufflepuffs were thrown behind, intermixed with her Gryffindors (because no matter what she knows they're always going to be her Gryffindors).

Closer to the front Zacharias Smith, a blonde long-faced boy was fruitlessly engage beautiful Sally-Anne Perks in a conversation involving something more than one-word sentences while she studiedly ignored him combing with her fingers her beautiful chestnut hair. Megan Jones sat beside her, sniggering uncontrollably managing to loosen considerably the light-brown hair pulled back into a bun at her nape, menacing to untie itself.

Stephen Cornfoot and Wayne Hopkins, one strong and light-haired, and the other chubby and round-faced were sprawled over their seats looking utterly sleepy. Lilith moone was gently teasing them as her large earrings shone and bounced around with every move of her head.

Another nice set of four were just before the largest group of Gryffindors: Ernie MacMillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot. The two boys, MacMillan, dirty blonde hair and round pompous face coupled with a stiff attitude, and Flinch-Fletchley, smart and outgoing and quite his friend's opposite; were busy glaring at the Slytherins across the corridor. Bones noticed Professor MacGonagll lingering at the door and started trying to hush everyone. Abott was way to busy flirting with Longbottom, seated behind her, cheeks all red up to her ears.

At the back of the classroom the eternal chasm between Gryffindor and Slytherin was painfully obvious. The class corridor was taken as the invisible dividing line; seated each in well defined groups. To the left proud Slytherin was always aloof and separated fro the rest. Al of them looking down their noses and sneering. There were things that never changed.

Pansy Parkinson was as always the soul of the party so-to-speak. Short and with unattractive features accentuated by the permanent gesture of disgust, wore a sever bob. Daphne Greengrass was indifferently polishing her nails. Being far more beautiful that her friend, Greengrass had rich honey-colored hair and delicate features. And wisely managed to succeed in her aim not to antagonize the Bee Queen. Being second to the Queen wasn't that bad after all. Blaise Zabinni was talking to her and his ebony skin made a fine contrast beside her.

The other three girls were some seats away. Abigail Runcorn was ugly and shallow, and ghostly thin, and was most likely criticizing someone in a not too low voice; while Tracie Davies, ever discreet despite her choice in friends, and mostly unimportant, and Milicent Bullstrode, infinitely strong and pretty coarse, assented to every one of her words.

In the back row the remainders of the greenish group stayed mostly silent. Draco Malfoy was seated a bit slouched on his chair; with an air of maybe quiet defeat upon him that was quite uncharacteristic. Far more silent and depleted that he had ever been before. Now he seemed to relish in silence; or in lack of it, not being directly talked to. Theodore Nott, the soul of silence, sat beside him reading something she could not properly see. At the Other side of Malfoy's, Gregory Goyle sat fat pudgy face and troll features as inexpressive as ever. It seemed more than odd; to see him without his twin soul, Vincent Crabbe. Although she had to admit that even while being shocked, nobody but him must miss him much.

At the other side of the chasm the Gryffindors gravitate. Relatively close to the front Neville Longbottom had been all red in the face because of Abbott's teasing-flirting; until he saw her and became even more red; scarlet even. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were engaged, two seats down in what sounded a lot like a quidditch conversation. The black skinned tall boy and the irish mousy-haired skinny one, by far, the most boisterous in all the room.

Pavarti Patil and lavender Brown were chatting excitedly, their raven and blond manes very close together in a conspirational mode. Sophie Roper, a bit pudgy and short-haired, and Alice Spinks, all curls big smile and wiry limbs, looked at them in an inquisitive fashion.

Back there, the Golden Trio sat. They weren't talking, but sat in companionable silence. McGonagall Smiles; they're some of her favorite people ever; they manage to touch her soft spot. Harry Potter, the-boy-who-lived, the-chosen-one whatever you choose to call him… was looking silently through the window in that pose so distinct of someone who clearly doesn't want to be there. Not exactly true to be honest… because she knows its more like the pose of someone who plainly is being quiet to remain mostly unseen and unobserved; he's trying to crawl into a corner to comfortably observe (or not). He looks tired, not that with that hair of his in all directions as if he has just woken up he normally doesn't, but he looks satisfied too. Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger are his best friends: she knows it and even probably wizards in Japan know it… these three are inseparable; but right know the tall lank redhead and the bushy-haired buxom girl are too busy brazenly flirting to pay their (most assuredly) sleepy friend.

She smiles; then presses her lips in _that_ particular thin line that scares the shit out of (most!) students; and pushes the door open with force. Let's not let her _kids _catch her getting all mushy; it would ruin her reputation. Heads swirl around, snap upwards; people straightening up; the chatter suddenly chokes up. When Professor McGonagall descends the stairs she is observing again a completely silent and amazingly uniformed class again.

Do they think she is truly that unobservant? That she hasn't seen that under the table Greengrass was riding her skirt up for Zabini; or that the reason that Brown is shamefully looking to the table is because she has no tie and is trying to hide this fact for the fourth time this week using only her chin? Or maybe that the striken look on Li's faces is due to that fact she has smuggled into her class with that magazine again and is trying to hide it into her bag? Do they think her blind? Or it is just old?

But she is pleased to know that when she looks into their eyes; she still can read in them just as well as she was able to do before. And even if they choose to ignore it… she knows she does and that is enough.


End file.
